Breathless
by the ticking clock
Summary: She writes him a letter he will never read, because she needs someone to talk to before the end.


Heaven(Because I can't think of a better address, Gus)

April 15, 2012

Dear Augustus,

I don't even know why I'm writing to you. There is no way that you can ever, or will ever, reply, but I miss you and I have nothing left to lose. So I'm going to try.

I am so scared.

There's never enough air in the world, Gus, but now I feel like every second the universe is pointing an imposing finger down and saying, "Take more oxygen away from Hazel."

After losing you, everything seemed so real. And I'm not just saying that because I would stay up nights sobbing into the book(You know which one, I don't even have to say it) because you were never coming back and half the time I couldn't breathe.

And so you see, Augustus, the big imposing finger has made my life hell the past few months. I can't even cry properly anymore, because if I do I won't be able to breathe, and it will mean another trip to the hospital and seeing the terrified eyes of my parents and I can't handle that right now. Losing you made this all so incredibly real for them, too.

It's hilariously ironic when I think about it, but do you remember when we were planning that trip to Amsterdam and the whole time everyone was so concerned about _me? _It was all, _Hazel might not be able to keep up with you, Is Hazel strong enough to handle the stress?, is Hazel, is Hazel, is Hazel..._no one thought about _you. _No one asked if _you_ were strong enough for the trip. How is it, Augustus, that I'm still here, dragging this cancer-ridden, tumor-infested, lump of a body around, and you're gone? It was always supposed to be me. Never you.

I screamed something like that at Mom the other day. I told her that I was the one who was supposed to die, not you. Her face sort of twisted, like it does when we're talking about cancer and she said, "You were never supposed to die, Hazel."

I know what she meant. She meant that I was never supposed to get cancer. That I was supposed to live a long and healthy life and she was supposed to be able to bounce her grandchildren on her knee. But that's just not going to happen, we both know that.

We used to talk about leaving are mark on the world, Augustus. I know you told Peter that I "tread lightly upon the earth" (And you are not a shitty writer, Augustus Waters. You are beautiful.) but I don't feel that way. I feel like I stamp on the earth. I stamp on it with my anger, and my worthlessness, and my huge, stupid, oxygen tank. When I die I will leave such a scar on this broken world, Gus. I never wanted that.

Mom has still been making me go to Group. It's not the same without you. Isaac tries to make me laugh, though. Sometimes it works. Laughing sometimes makes it harder to breathe, though, so he doesn't do it often.

Have I mentioned that yet? I can't _breathe, _Augustus.

I liked the way you would make me feel breathless; with your kisses, and your logic, and your humor. This is not like that. I feel like I'm suffocating. I don't think I can do this anymore. But I'm so scared.

I didn't expect that-being so terrified. We used to talk about oblivion and death like it meant nothing. We talked about how no one would ever remember us in a thousand years, and how nothing we ever did would matter. Death was always a constant ghost tapping our shoulder that we somehow just kept shrugging off.

But I think he's caught up with me.

Were you scared, Augustus? I know you just wanted it all to be over, in the end. I remember that first really bad night, at the gas station. You were so _angry, _Gus. I'm not angry anymore. I'm just tired.

I don't know when I'll be seeing you. Probably soon. Wait for me, okay?

Okay?

Okay.

It's a deal then, Augustus Waters.

I have to go now. Mom and Dad want to spend some family time with me, and I can't say I blame them. I love you. Thank you for our little infinity, and for Amsterdam, and for making me feel breathless in the most magical way possible.

Love,

Hazel


End file.
